


Respawn

by catness



Category: Zombie Lane
Genre: Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catness/pseuds/catness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weird happenings in Zombie Lane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respawn

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Zombie Lane is the property of Digital Chocolate (and RockYou, as of lately). Any resemblance to existing persons is purely coincidental. Quite a few zombies were harmed during the writing of this fic.

Green. Ground is green. Not grass. Flat, smooth, green. My hands. Crooked, green. Why?

Yellow. Grass is yellow. Withered, yellow. My uniform. Heavy. Something heavy on my back. Can not touch. Arms, feet, heavy. Slow. Dazed. Where am I?

Brick fence ahead. Behind the fence, a house. Trees. Flowers. Barbecue. Garden. People live here. Not alone. Help?

No entrance. Fence doesn't budge. Can't get in. Turn around. Drag my feet. Pavement, squares. Black, white, white, black. The edge - green fog, invisible wall. Doesn't budge. Trapped. What's going on?

Red barrel, burns. Fire. Hot. Danger. Beauty. Power. Burning. I am... Heavy boots, uniform. Fire... man? Burning. Wrong. Not. Who am I?

Green faces. Ugly. Clumsy, slow. Yellow uniform. On his back, a metal cylinder. An air-pack. Compressed air. I remember. Have one, too. What for?

A red-haired woman. Not green. Slender, quick. Walks through the fence. Comes closer. On her back, something. She raises her arm. In her hand, a metal blade. Not again?

She hits the one beside me. Slashes him in half. The upper half slides forward. Green, spurts around. Blood. His body, a black shadow. He flails his arms, splits into pieces. An eyeball drops down, rolls on the ground. Pieces fade out. He is no more. What has he done?

She comes closer. Red lips, twisted smile. Dark glasses. Danger. Death?

The sword comes at me. Tears my body apart. Pain. Anger. I hit her back. She yelps and crouches. Not for long. She is up. The sword comes down again. Agony. Green haze. My feet slide away. The world shatters into pieces. Fades out.

***

\- I wish he flatlined already. I'm sick of working overtime. And all these efforts just for him to be able to understand what's going on when they execute him.

\- Dammit, if only we could switch. I've no problem with working overtime, and I could so use the extra money. Why did they ask for a nurse with computer skills anyway? Any one can turn the electric shocker on and off.

\- Well, actually, the therapy involves much more than the electric shocks. There's all that experimental equipment, like the electronic neurostimulator. Somebody's making a thesis about it. It's a proper computer, with apps and everything. The monitoring app works almost like my Facebook games.

\- So, that Zombie Lane game you were raving about, all the hours of playing finally paid off? Maybe I should try it out too.

\- Sure! Come, let's play a bit right now. The only good thing about this job is the free Internet.

\- Wow. It's allowed?

\- Told you, the neurostimulator is a computer. The Internet is for the monitoring app, but I've been poking around, and figured out how to run pretty much whatever I want. And it's not like he'd rat me out, heh. 

\- Yeah, coma patients are the best. No whining, no complaints, no death threats.

\- For some people, being in coma is an improvement. 

***

The world fades back in, like many times before. I'm getting used to traveling through death. Every time I come back, I end up in another yard, but they are all the same. Green plastic ground. Roads that lead to nowhere. Lemon trees, apple trees, cabbage patches, pumpkin patches. A few simple buildings, always the same ones - a house, a tool shed, a garden shed, a garage, a dog house. A car. Wooden fences, plank fences, brick fences. Green-skinned mutants stumbling around, oblivious to me and to each other. 

All of us are an easy prey for those who run the place. There's usually a couple that owns the house, and their guests. They are well-stocked on weapons, and their main pastime is murder. They are invincible. Even when I manage to strike back, they just pause for a second and attack again.

I lost track of my deaths. I was shot with guns, rifles and bazookas. Slashed with katanas, laser swords and chainsaws. Blown to bits with grenades and mines. Burned with flamethrowers and fire bombs. Frozen with ice sprays which turn you into a solid block of ice. Zapped with electrified rakes which turn you into a glowing skeleton. Doused with pepper which devours you from the inside. They have imagination, those people.

But this time something is different. The buildings, plants and garden decorations are all there but no one is around. Nothing moves. It also feels different. The colors are brighter, the shapes are sharper. I inhale the air - it smells of dust and bugs. I can breathe?

I walk to the house. The glowing red border that prevents us from touching their buildings and fences is no longer there. I hope the owners are in. I haven't killed for so long. 

The metal-studded front door is locked. When I kick it, my boot makes a round dent in the metal. It feels good to be in control of my body again. One more kick, and the door flies off its hinges and crashes on the ground.

The house meets me with dead emptiness. There is nothing inside - only bare, unpainted walls. No one to answer for my pain. 

I bang my fist against the wall. Bricks come down in a silent waterfall. I keep hitting and kicking until the house is reduced to a pile of rubble. So far so good. 

Every yard accumulates a lot of expensive junk over time. Picnic tables, lounge chairs, swimming pools, umbrellas, bicycles, ATMs. Everything has to go. I demolish the place in silence which is broken only by the rasping of air piercing my lungs with every breath. But it's good. I feel alive.

When I observe the trashed yard - once a redneck paradise, now a wasteland - I am almost happy. My past is still blank and my present is a bizarre nightmare. But perhaps I have a future.

***

"Hi Fellow Zombie Slayer,

We apologize for the inconvenience caused by the reversal of your yard to its initial state. Our Development Team has been notified about the problem and they are working on it. In the meantime, you have been sent a compensation package. Thank you for playing Zombie Lane and have a nice day."

\- Another "yard reset" customer request, eh?

\- Yeah. Spreading like a plague. These incidents used to happen once or twice a week, and now there's at least a dozen every day. 

\- You tell me. I've been bugging the devs for weeks, but they give no answers besides "we're working on it". As if they don't care anymore. If no one knows how to fix it, they could just draw the line and terminate it.

\- Crap. I'd hate to see it ending. It used to be a good game... one of the best out there. Say, you know some Flash, any idea what's going on?

\- How should I know? I just answer emails, they don't let me anywhere near the code. I'd bet on a memory overwrite. Or stack overflow. Or database cache corruption, or viruses, or sun spots, or poltergeist.

\- Or zombie uprising. Maybe some poor zombies got tired of getting killed day by day and learned how to take revenge. Next: the epidemic of mysterious deaths among Zombie Lane players. 

\- Hah, that's a good one. I should adopt this excuse. "Dear valued customer, all the data on your account was eaten by zombies in the process of a zombie uprising. Watch out for your life and have a nice day."

***

It's been a while. I don't know how it works; I just step into the fog at the edge of one yard and find myself in another one, empty and waiting to be destroyed. I keep going, but I'm restless. My clawed fingers, bleeding dark green from breaking countless bricks, metal sheets and screws, ache to touch human flesh. 

At last my wish is granted. I materialize in a yard swarming with life. I push through the crowd of the familiar green-faced freaks - bulky construction workers in red checkered flannel shirts, clumsy gardeners in yellow cowboy hats, little fat gas station attendants and plumbers resembling rubber ducks, edgy waitresses in pink baggy dresses, irascible egg-headed salesmen, frail and geeky supermart clerks, scrawny and sulky janitors. 

I don't interfere with their aimless wandering. My target is the red-haired woman moving towards me, with a golden rifle hanging on her back. She used to carry a sword, didn't she? I recognize her. The mocking grin of twisted crimson lips, the huge dark sunglasses hiding her eyes, the ragged gray jeans and a white T-shirt boasting "I killed 10000 Zombies". Many of those gun-wielding, bloodthirsty female butchers look like that, but I sense she is the one. I'm not even sure what it means that she is the one, but I know she's what I seek. She is perfect for me. She'll make a perfect victim.

This time I am faster. I tear the pathetic shiny trinket out of her hands, knock her down and pin her to the ground with my knee. Shooting her would be too kind. I yell at a passing supermarket geek to throw me a rope. He floats by without batting a drooping yellow eyelid. Obviously none of them have awakened yet. I am not like them anymore.

Snap. The abrupt sound startles me. She's gasping for air, with my knee burrowed deep inside her chest. Crimson blood bubbles out of her mouth. She was too fragile, and I was too careless. I release my hold, but it's too late. She escaped my revenge.

The broken body in a stupid bloodstained T-shirt is sprawled at my feet. It fades out as I watch. The crimson stains on the plastic ground linger for a couple of seconds before reverting to the immaculate green. It's as if she never existed.

It can't be over. I need more. Much more. 

Her partner is nowhere to be seen. Run away, dead? Pity. I'm one victim short. But there are more yards, more people. An unlimited resource to quench my despair. 

I pick up the golden rifle. It may be shiny but it never runs out of ammo, so it will be useful. My job here is done. The gray pavement leads into the green fog - inviting, promising. I step in, burning with anticipation. Who will be the next? The game is on.

***

\- You must agree, though, that we are on the verge of a breakthrough.

\- Well, colleague, the patient's reaction to stimuli is definitely noticeable, but it's too early to talk about any conclusive results. In any case, I wouldn't hurry up with the article, not while the investigation is still in progress.

\- If you mean that dead nurse, it was obviously a trivial accident, not our fault. The equipment is perfectly safe. She must've had a pre-existing heart condition and somehow avoided the screening.

\- Of course it's not our fault, but it could give us a bad name. 

\- Listen. I'll be monitoring him myself from now on. It was a mistake from the start to rely on under-qualified personnel. Most of the staff here are incredibly sloppy and irresponsible. According to one worker's report, the deceased woman went as far as playing social games during her shift. Games!

\- In fact, colleague, I don't mind gaming myself. It's a convenient way to sublimate these murderous urges that are an essential part of every city dweller's psyche. Isn't it better to maim, burn and exterminate a bunch of pixels than to take your problems out to the streets? Especially if there's a chance to end up like that poor deranged guy in the ward.

\- Him? Frankly, he was careless. If I ever felt compelled to become a homicidal maniac, I would've been more ingenious. Arson is very last century. Anyway, is there any specific game you recommend? Preferably something simple, lightweight and non-distracting. I'm going to spend a lot of time in the ward from now on, and I imagine it may be getting rather lonely. 

\- For a start, try out Zombie Lane by Digital Chocolate. It's a casual Flash game where you build up your yard and protect it from zombie invaders. The gameplay is easy but strangely alluring, and unlike action games, you can't die. I find zombicide almost as relaxing as meditation. 

\- A casual Flash game sounds reasonable, and it won't interfere with the neurotransmitter software. I'll check it out as soon as possible. 

\- The game has been glitching lately, but don't let it spoil your experience. Show these zombies who's in charge.

\- And I will, colleague. The game is on.


End file.
